


Apocryphal Universes

by jikanet_tanaka



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Spoilers, companion pieces to a longer fic, little snippets of domestic life, nakama powaaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jikanet_tanaka/pseuds/jikanet_tanaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Additional chapters in the life of a certain past bearer of the White Chronicle. Companion pieces for a longer fic of mine (Apocrypha). Spoilers galore.</p><p>First ficlet: In seven days, King Victor's younger brother was going to be killed.</p><p>Second ficlet: A father and son have a heart-to-heart about their family history.</p><p>Third ficlet: A bearer of the White Chronicle befriends a Shaman of Celestia. Because before Stocke and Aht came Heinrich and Isla.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When We Were Young

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Radiant Historia belongs to Atlus.

_\- 1 -_

Sophia's cousin had always been strange and unsociable.

Even as a small child, in the years where his grandfather and father sat upon the throne, he always managed to send the castle into an uproar by mysteriously disappearing for hours at end, slipping out of lessons and official functions without anyone knowing the better. They would then always find him hidden in some remote corner of the palace, surrounded by books and treatises of all sort, his hair singed by some unsuccessful attempt at magic. Sophia could still recall how his mother's shrill voice would ring through the corridors afterwards; she could remember the bruised cheek and sour look he would sport the next day at breakfast.

As of late, he had been similarly impossible to find. His absence had been noted by most of the court, prompting a few to gossip about his rather disagreeable nature. Indeed, had he not stormed out of a meeting with his brother a month ago, some noble souls were insistent to remind her, therefore insulting both their good king and the better part of Granorg's finest? Or, as others brought out, clearly thinking themselves clever, how could she not remember how he had refused to sit on his brother's royal council, thus refusing to fulfil one of his father's dying wishes? As much as Sophia loathed to admit, there was probably a bit of truth to their slander. A part of her that was certain they would soon stumble upon him, huddled up in one of his many secret hideouts, reading a book with only a bit of magical fire flickering in his hand to keep him company.

Instead, on this clear Sunday evening, Sophia was now finding that she was sorely mistaken.

"He did _what?_ " she shouted, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her mouth hung open in the most un-ladylike of fashions.

Her outburst startled her handmaid Leah. With a small yelp, the woman strongly tugged on a strand of hair, making Sophia cringe even more.

"My apologies, Your Highness," the handmaid squeaked, suddenly contrite. "It seems the king did not want you to know." As Sophia huffed, Leah seemed to shrink even more. "It was all kept very hush hush. I myself wouldn't have known if it weren't for one of my husband's men telling him. Edmund says His Majesty assigned a part of his inner guard to keep him confined to his room day and night."

Sophia's fingers drummed on the dark wood of her dressing table. "You don't have to be so apologetic, Leah, I'm not angry at you." She gave her handmaid a slight smile that flitted away as quickly as it had formed. "That dearest husband of mine, _however_..."

Leah kept mum as she continued to brush her mistress's hair. She was casting that wide-eyed doe gaze of hers downwards instead of meeting Sophia's eyes through the reflection of the mirror.

"That... _cad!_ " Sophia went on. She would have used a stronger word, but that wouldn't have been very _queenlike_ as her mother-in-law would say. "Doesn't he know that there is only one week remaining until—"

Her voice broke—as usual, this particular subject had left her too upset to talk.

Poor Leah seemed at loss for words. She put down the brush on the vanity, quickly disappearing to fetch Sophia's nightdress. There was an awkward silence as she returned to help Sophia unlace her clothes.

"Perhaps His Majesty wants to make sure the prince does not hide when it will be time for—" Leah ventured as her fingers worked on the laces.

She never had the time to complete her thought—Sophia whirled on her, green eyes ablaze.

"Harry would never!" the queen said. "He _is_ a bit craven, but only a fool would not know what is at stakes here." She sighed, immediately regretting her harsh tone. "I am sorry, Leah. That was not very becoming of me, was it?" Sophia gave another feeble smile. "I guess that leaves me only one thing to do, then."

Leah blinked, puzzled. "Which is, Your Highness?"

Sophia twirled a curl of bright golden hair around her finger, her smile growing more playful. "Why, breaking him out, of course."

* * *

_\- 2 -_

The next day, however, brought another surprise.

Sophia had set out to her brother-in-law's chambers in the early morning, after breaking her fast. She was escorted by the ever-faithful Leah and by Myrte, a young lady-in-waiting Victor had recently assigned to her, but also by the nanny of her two children, Lady Beth. The old woman had never left Sophia's company since the day Ernst had been born, three years ago. Beth's dedication to the royal family was nothing short of legendary, and Sophia suspected only death would force her away from the two babes. And since Sophia herself tried to spend every second she could manage with her beloved little ones, it meant that Beth had herself become a sort of honorary handmaid for the queen.

Sophia sighed as she looked to her current surroundings. She had truly believed her plan perfect. With baby Eruca in arms, and little Ernst tottering after her, babbling and giggling along the way, nobody would suspect that she was about to directly disobey one of her husband's orders. The guardsmen had indeed been too charmed—how foolish they were!—to realize something was amiss.

What Sophia's had not expected, however, was to find Heinrich's bedchambers already empty of the one it was supposed to imprison.

"Oh, my clever boy!" Beth said upon discovering the pillows hidden under the bedcovers. "He did not need our help to escape after all."

"He _did_ flee, then," Leah muttered, but Sophia silenced her with a glare. The handmaid stuttered an apology as Sophia adjusted the swaddled infant in her arms. She directed her gaze towards Ernst. The boy was peering curiously at a pile of books laying on the floor.

"Where could he have gone?" Myrte wondered aloud. Sophia's gaze swept across the room, and she could not help but smile as she saw Ernst toddling around in exploration of his uncle's bedchambers. When he tried to go to the balcony, however, he was quickly stopped in his tracks by Beth.

"Should we get going, Your Highness?" the older woman said, hoisting the little boy up in her arms. Sophia gave her a swift nod.

The four women left Heinrich's bedchambers (as they made their way out, Sophia assured the guards that her cousin was abed, beset by a fever. 'You shouldn't disturb him. He is in one of his stormy moods, you see,' she had told the soldiers in a conversational tone), and they were passing through the courtyard when Beth strolled over to Sophia's side.

"I do hope he won't get caught by the guards," she said to Sophia. She greeted the infant in Sophia's arms with a smile, and Eruca answered with a yawn. Compared to the troublemaker her brother had been, the little princess was a sleepy baby. "I dare not imagine what His Majesty would do if he found out."

"Victor would then have to answer to me," Sophia replied, peeved.

Beth gave a light, motherly pat on Sophia's shoulder. "You simply are the best thing that has ever happened to him, Your Highness. My sweet little Victor, bless his heart... he's always been so impetuous. Without you to guide his hand, I would fear to see what would become of him."

Sophia did not respond. She would use something other than 'impetuous' to describe her husband's character. Suddenly, she longed for the days where she once thought otherwise, those days where just one word from her tall, dark and handsome betrothed would send her head spinning and her heart aflutter.

She still remembered it, the day where the veneer of perfection that had been applied over her marriage had begun to crack. Eruca's birth had been long and arduous, and the travail had almost claimed the lives of both mother and child. Sophia had then been struck insensate by childbed fever. When she had finally slipped out of unconsciousness, confused and frightened by the haze of pain that seemed to pin her body to the bed, it was only to be told she had missed the first few days of her daughter's life. Immediately, Sophia had asked for the babe.

"You cannot nurse," Victor had told her. "You are still too weak."

"I don't care," Sophia had said. "Give her to me. _Give me my daughter._ "

Eruca had burst into tears the moment they had put her in her mother's trembling arms, but Sophia did not care. She had looked down at the squalling little pink face, only thinking of how much her daughter had struggled to come into the world. Sophia's own tears had not been long in coming. Little Eruca had fought so hard to be born, yet she would probably never live past the age of thirty. She would be murdered by her brother (oh god, how chilling it had been imagining her lovely little boy as a murderer!) before she would have the chance to truly bloom.

Victor had misunderstood the cause of his wife's tears. "I should call for the child's wetnurse. You are still much too weak—"

"I'm fine," Sophia had said hoarsely. "She's my daughter. She's _mine_."

Victor's hand had been heavy on her shoulder. "Are you sure?" he'd said so softly. "I don't want you to be hurt. I can arrange for someone else to look after her. It'll make things easier for you when—"

Sophia had gaped at him as the meaning of his words sank in. "Get out," she finally said, before swallowing down the pain to shriek, " _GET OUT!_ " The bewildered look he'd given her as he left the room had almost been as worse as his words, in a sense. He'd meant well, and that had only left a bitter taste in Sophia's mouth, one she hadn't been able to wash out ever since.

Sophia was starting to feel cold all over when she heard Leah's voice calling out from behind, cutting short her reminiscences. "My ladies! Have you seen young master Ernst?"

 _"What?"_ Sophia felt like the word had been snatched from her throat. She turned to face Leah and Myrte, sensing the blood draining from her face. Beth looked similarly stricken.

"He was with me, but _—oh!_ " the old woman cried, "this is all my fault! How could I turn my eyes away from him?" She buried her face in her wrinkly hands, her entire body shuddering.

Tears were also threatening to fall from Leah's eyes. A coldness seized every bit of Sophia's insides—and the images of all the things that could hurt her little boy flashed in front of her eyes, making her want to scream—but she could not let her emotions run free, could not give in to her desire to just blame these poor frightened women for something that was as much her fault as theirs.

"Calm down, all of you," Sophia said. "He's only a small boy after all. He can't have wandered very far." Leah and Myrte gave small, feverish nods. "If we all search separately, then I'm sure we'll find him quickly."

The four of them split up immediately. Beth suggested to take baby Eruca back to the nursery, but Sophia instead grasped her daughter tighter, regarding the older woman with a cool look. _What a fool I am_ , Sophia thought. She had always been a little ashamed of how overprotective she was of her children. _Of course you are, silly girl. You'll have to bury one of them.  
_

Sophia must have made quite the sight, running in the castle in her long flowing dress, one arm holding baby Eruca while the other clutched at her skirts. She encountered a few guardsmen who assured her they had not seen her son, and who then ran off, swift like the wind, to search for him as well. She was standing near the staircase that descended to the underground library (and, as her mind reminded her, to the Royal Hall where one of her children would be murdered some twenty years from now) when she heard something odd. A man seemed to be shouting from downstairs—it sounded almost as he was trying to shoo away a persistent little animal.

 _Could it be...?_ she wondered. _But the steps are so steep! He could have never manage to climb them down._ Still, after adjusting her hold on an increasingly fussy Eruca, she went down the staircase, keeping out an ear to make out what the man was saying.

"Stop that!" she could hear him grumble. "Don't you have someone else you can bother? Your mother, perhaps, or Lady Beth? Where in the world are they anyway?"

A high-pitched giggle followed the man's words, and Sophia could feel her heart swelling at the sound. She rushed down the stairs and into the library, making baby Eruca cry out in fright. The two occupants of the room turned their heads to find the source of the noise: one was an adorable blond toddler with chubby red cheeks, while the other was a pale young man whose glasses seemed to be perched precariously on a rather long nose.

"Your Highness!" Sophia's cousin Heinrich cried out, half-rising from his seat in surprise. At the same time, Ernst gave a loud "Mama!" and slipped out of his own chair to toddle toward her.

"Hello, sweetheart," Sophia said, watching the little boy now clutching to her skirts with misty eyes. "Why did you run off like that? You gave all of us quite the fright!"

Ernst stared at her, looking a bit unsure. "Uh..."

"You must never do something like that again," Sophia said, crouching to face her son at eye level. "You could get very hurt! Promise me you'll never do it again, won't you, Ernst?"

The boy slowly nodded, obviously not quite understanding the depth of his mother's worry _._ Sighing, she began to gently rock Eruca, who had started to make more of her displeasure known. Sophia met her cousin's red gaze from across the room.

"Have you watched over him all this time, Harry?" she said, still patting Eruca's curls. The young man looked away, cheeks growing pink. "If so, you have my thanks."

Heinrich shrugged as he slid back into his chair. "I just thought letting him wander off his own would be the height of stupidity. Children seem to crave danger the way my dear old mother loves nursing her bottle of wine."

"Show more respect to the poor woman," Sophia chided him. "Still... how on earth did Ernst manage to get here? Did you help him climb down the stairs?"

"If what you mean by 'help him' is 'catch him while he's tumbling down the stairs', then well, yes, I did."

 _"Tumbling?"_ Sophia gasped, her gaze snapping back to her little boy. Ernst was in all appearances completely unfazed by the experience; he was making his way back to his uncle, his pudgy face alight with determination.

"As you see, not a single worry in his pretty little head," Heinrich said, watching the boy climb atop the chair next to him once again. "He's forgotten about it already. How sweet it must be, to have that kind of life..." His voice carried a hint of bitterness.

Sophia could not bear to hold his resentful gaze, and she looked away. In contrast, Ernst didn't seem to care about his uncle's troubles. He pointed at the book laying open in front of Heinrich, commanding him with all the authority a three-year-old prince could muster. "My story! Gimme my story!"

"I already told you!" Heinrich replied, sounding oddly petulant himself. "That's not adequate reading for a child!"

"He wants you... to read him a _story?"_ Sophia said, amused. "He barely knows you!" She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from letting out a high-pitched noise at the sheer cuteness of the image it would make.

"I never speak to him!" Heinrich said. "Why would he suddenly come up to me with such an idea?" He shuddered, as if he had just swallowed something very unpleasant

"He does love stories very much," Sophia mused. "Why! he reminds me of a certain someone who acted just the same at that age!" She contemplated the two of them with eyes that shone with mischeviousness. _Except that my little Ernst is a dozen times more adorable that poor Harry has ever been, of course._

"Regardless of what he likes or wants, I have nothing here that might be suitable for him."

The underlying message was clear. "If you say so," Sophia said with a sigh. "Well, we have dawdled here long enough, wouldn't you say, Ernst? If you want to, we can go back to your room for a story."

This seemed to satisfy her son. "Uh-huh!" Ernst said, jumping off his chair to run toward her.

"Now, say goodbye to your uncle, sweetheart!"

"Bye-bye, Uncle!"

"H-have a nice day," Heinrich replied, swiftly hiding his reddening face with a book.

Sophia was only a few steps away when an idea dawned on her. She looked at the sleepy blue gaze of the infant in her arms, then back at the little boy holding her other hand. Ernst tilted his head at the sight of the staircase, then started to suck on his thumb, puzzled.

"Heinrich," she called, turning to face her cousin again. She saw his eyes peering at her from above his book; they were narrowing in a clear display of annoyance. "Can you help me with something? In exchange, I'll take care of the guards when you'll make your escape tomorrow morning. I'd rather not have you scale down the balcony again to get out of your chambers."

She saw Heinrich's eyebrows rising.

"How did you know that I...?"

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You're covered in dirt. Did you land in a bush by some chance?"

Heinrich hid his expression behind his book again. "Just try to do something like that as fast as I did without being seen, I _dare_ you."

"Oh, don't sulk," Sophia said. "Just come up here and help me carry Ernst up the stairs."

Heinrich lowered the book in one swift move, his face scrunching up in a manner that did not flatter him in the least. "You want me to _what?"_

This time she could not conceal her grin. He made it _far_ too easy.

* * *

_\- 3 -_

The morning after, she had Leah clothe her in one of her most extravagant dresses. It was not as fancy as the gowns she wore at court, but with that gorgeous green velvet bringing out her eyes, and the tight bodice and plunging décolleté highlighting her curves, she knew she would the eyes of every man she met today. And what better way to keep people's attention off her misbehaving cousin than to serve as the most elegant of all distractions?

Or at least that was what she explained to Leah and Myrte as they took off to Heinrich's chambers. "No one will refuse me a favour in this dress," she said.

"You're the queen," Myrte said. "They can't refuse you _anything_."

Sophia had to admit she was right, but that would have sucked all the fun out of their little operation. As they approached Heinrich's chambers Sophia slowed up her pace, ambling around as if she was only on her morning walk. Upon catching sight of her, the two guardsmen stationed in front of Heinrich's room bowed as low as their armours could allow.

"Good day, gentlemen," she said, curtsying back. Ernst trying to mimic his mother, while Eruca babbled something incomprehensible.

"Your Highness," the one closest to her said in a carefully neutral tone. He exchanged a glance with his taller associate, the latter turning back to Sophia to give her a cautious stare.

"Oh, you must be wondering why I am here!" Sophia said. She pitched her voice a little higher, adopting a body language she had carefully designed for these kinds of occasions. "I was just hoping to see if my poor cousin had gotten better since yesterday."

"We have been told that he must see no one," the shortest guard answered in such a curt way she felt Ernst grasp the train of her dress. Sophia fought not to let her displeasure show. "It was a mistake to let you do so yesterday. He could be quite contagious after all."

"My goodness, how dreadful!" Sophia clutched Eruca closer to her chest. "And to think I wanted to take him out again today! Still, could I speak to him through the door? I must wish him a swift recovery."

"I don't see why you could not, Your Highness," the second soldier said. Sophia flashed him her loveliest smile, and he beamed back in the same fashion her husband did whenever she fluttered her eyelashes at him like a lovestruck maiden.

"That's most gracious of you, Sir," she said, raising a hand to knock on Heinrich's door. "Hello! Cousin Heinrich, are you awake?"

She caught a muffled noise from behind the door, and she put her ear against the wood to hear better. "Hello?" She heard footsteps. He appeared to be moving farther away from her—to his balcony perhaps. _What is he doing...?!_

She moved back to smile at the two guardsmen again. "Well, he must be still asleep. He has never been an early riser, has he?" The two men looked at each other and shrugged.

Sophia was about to take her leave when a loud _crash_ thundered from behind the door. Ernst went from only grasping a handful of her dress to tugging on her arm in fright. She felt her smile freeze in place, while the two guards stiffened, their hands reaching for their sword hilts.

"What in blazes—?" the taller of the two guards said. His partner only glared, moving his hand to grab the doorknob.

Immediately, Sophia slapped his hand away. Leah and Myrte gasped in shock. The man raised to her a pair of incredulous eyes. Sophia herself could sense her own hesitation, not quite believing what she had just did.

"What are you doing?" she asked, injecting in her voice just that trace of iciness she'd learned from Victor. "Do you believe my cousin would want you to barge into his room and disrupt his rest?"

The short guardsman just looked at her stubbornly. "Prince Heinrich might need our help. Did you not hear that sound, Your Highness? What if he has injured himself?"

"And how would have he done that? By falling out of bed?" Sophia said. "How delighted, then, would he to be to caught in such a position by his own guards?"

"Your Highness—"

"I will see to him. He can protest my company all he wants, but he can do nothing to send me away if I please." She did not like to use her position to force her will on others, but it was the only way she had to manoeuvre around her husband's most idiotic decisions. "My ladies, please escort the children back to the nursery."

"Mama," Ernst blubbered out. Sophia bent down to kiss his golden head.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Be good to Leah and Lady Myrte, will you?"

The two ladies whisked the children away as Sophia entered Heinrich's room. She rushed to the open balcony door, her heart starting to race.

"Harry!" she called out, trying to keep her voice to a bare minimum, "Harry, where _are_ you?"

"Down here," a voice wheezed from below. Heinrich appeared to be stuck into some bush right under the balcony. Sophia stifled a laugh. Heinrich's scowl told her she hadn't hidden her chuckle very well.

"You should be moving. If any guard find you there, you'll be in trouble!"

"My ankle hurts," was Heinrich's plaintive response.

Sophia sighed. "Don't worry, just stay there. I'll see if I can heal you." And she dashed out of his room, stopping only to give another dazzling smile to the two guards again, before hurrying to the courtyard.

She was fortunate enough that no soldier was patrolling the area where her cousin had fallen. "That was very stupid, Harry," she said as she caught sight of him. "I would have convinced the guards to let you out today, you know."

Heinrich winced. "I couldn't be sure of that. King's orders and all..."

Sophia wrinkled her nose as she moved to see his ankle. "I'm the _queen_. I also speak with my husband's voice. They can't know whether I'm lying or not." Heinrich let out a little yelp when she removed his boot. Her fingers brushed over the swollen red skin. "It is only a sprain. I can heal this easily."

"I'm sure it's broken—"

"Don't be a baby, Harry." Her hands glowed a soft green, and Heinrich's scowl slowly dissipated. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, then wriggled his ankle out of her grasp.

"See? I wouldn't have been able to heal it this nicely had it been a fracture."

Heinrich mumbled a 'thank you' that was so half-hearted she almost wanted to force him to repeat it. Instead, she stood up and offered him a hand. His cheeks were pink as she helped him to his feet.

Several guards spotted them as they wandered the castle's courtyard, but none thought of approaching them. Sophia was grateful for that; the sky was pure blue, and the wind, so sweet. Heinrich was mostly silent, only giving her an occasional nod or grunt to show he was listening to her. He seemed to enjoy the surrounding scenery, however. His few comments were about the blooming spring flowers, and when a robin flew over their head, singing, his lips even twitched into a smile.

When they stepped into the royal garden, all trace of joy melted away from his face. The Queen Mother was sipping her morning tea with her attendants, the ladies huddled together under the garden gazebo to protect their delicate skin from the sun. Sophia grabbed her cousin's arm in an attempt to guide him away from his mother. It was too late; Queen Ruta's piercing gaze had already caught sight of her wayward son.

"Is that you, Heinrich?" came the Queen Mother's voice. "I thought you were confined to your rooms?"

Sophia forced her mouth into a smile. "Mother!" she said. "How good it is to see you this morning!"

"Come closer," the older woman said, undeterred by her daughter-in-law's cheerful tone, "my ears are not as good as they used to be."

Heinrich said nothing as Sophia dragged him toward his mother. His mouth barely moved when he greeted the woman who had given birth to him. Ruta looked up at him, her thin lips pursed in disappointment. Once more Sophia remembered the day she'd seen her daughter for the first time. She wondered whether or not her mother-in-law had been presented with the same terrible dilemma when she had first beheld her second son. If she had, Sophia knew the choice she had made. She could read it on the old woman's face as her icy blue eyes bore into Heinrich's own gaze.

"I believe Victor had assigned you to your chambers, did he not? Something about you catching some disease or another?"

"He's lying," Heinrich said through grit teeth.

"Nonsense! Why would he invent such a tale?"

"You know him, Mother," Sophia said. "He's a worrier, my husband. But as you can see, Harry is fit as a fiddle."

The Queen Mother's ladies-in-waiting had stayed silent through this exchange. Ruta's hand tightened around the handle of her cup. "It would be better to bring him back to his chambers. Victor ordered it."

Sophia took a deep breath to keep her smile into place. "Of course I will, Mother. If you will forgive us, we need to get going. A pleasant morning to all of you, my ladies."

She managed to lead Heinrich away from the old lady. They felt her cold blue eyes following them right until they were out of the garden.

* * *

_\- 4 -_

On the following day, a Wednesday, Leah came to her chambers a little after sunrise. The handmaid began to blush profusely as she saw the king snoring in Sophia's bed, naked save for the sheets wrapped around his large form.

"Come back later!" Sophia mouthed to her. Victor's hand was starting to wander, finding her leg. Leah mercifully scampered away before she could see how higher and higher his fingers were travelling up Sophia's thigh.

Sophia pinched Victor's skin. The man grunted and snatched his hand away. His blue eyes were wide open now.

"You will have to leave for your chambers, my love," Sophia said. Victor groaned again. "No, no, no, I will have none of this, put on some clothes and get going!"

"But—"

"Didn't you have enough last night? Good things must always come sparsely, I say."

Victor's brows furrowed, his gaze growing dark. "What are you planning, my lady? I hope there isn't another visit to my brother in your near future..."

Sophia wanted to huff. Last night, when he had come to her, he hadn't said a word about her spiriting Heinrich away from his chambers (but she knew he knew, there was no way the Queen Mother wouldn't tell). Sophia had been certain, however, that he would eventually breach the topic.

"He is lonely, my love. And imprisoning him in such a way before... _that day_... well, it's rather cruel, don't you think?"

"What are you two doing together?" Victor hissed. It seemed as if he hadn't heard a word of what she said.

Sophia suppressed a sigh, instead looking at his face with make-believe fondness. "Are you jealous, my lord? You do know that even if I were to appear half-naked in his chambers Heinrich would have absolutely no idea what to do?"

Her response was spot-on, and Victor smirked. Disgust prickled at Sophia's skin.

Victor's hand grasped her thigh again. "Stay with me today."

Sophia bit her lips. Once, she would have welcomed his touch, but now... "I have things to do, and so have you. This afternoon, I'll have to negotiate with the head of the merchants' guild, and later in the morning you have a meeting with—"

"I'm the king," Victor growled against her neck. He pressed a kiss to her throat. "Let them settle their own problems without me for once. Stay with me this morning."

Sophia knew the man had another reason for pining her to bed. She finally allowed a sigh to leave her lips. Would her younger self have loved him as much had she known about this part of him, this side he kept so carefully hidden under those grins and those fierce blue eyes? As she lay down, she saw Heinrich in her mind's eye, sitting in his bed, quietly waiting for her. The image—and the way her body eased under Victor's ministrations—left her feeling oddly traitorous.

* * *

_\- 5 -_

If he held a grudge against her for not helping him out the day before, Heinrich did not show it. He did, however, raise an eyebrow as she explained her plans for the day.

"Victor will never forgive me if I go out of the castle," he said. He watched the palanquin that had been brought in front of the castle gates with a critical eye.

"Harry," she said simply, "all the guards accompanying us today belong to me. They're the subordinates of my handmaid's husband." She motioned over to where Leah was standing. She and Myrte curtsied, while Beth smiled broadly. Baby Eruca stayed asleep in her arms. Ernst detached himself from his nanny and ran to his mother. "They'll never tell Victor," Sophia added with a laugh as Ernst began to pull on her skirts. "I've even replaced the ones at your door. No one will know."

"But, Your Highness—"

"I told you before, you don't have to call me that." As the palanquin was brought near her, Sophia climbed inside. Ernst reached for her with eager arms, and her heart broke in two. He started to protest when Beth dragged him away.

"You can't come with us, darling," Sophia told her son. As his eyes filled with tears, she could feel her own welling up. The palanquin shook a little as Heinrich, Leah and Myrte joined her. "Please be a good boy for Lady Beth, won't you? And keep an eye out for your sister" She looked at the blond curls sticking out of the swaddled blankets, and the sight made it even harder for her to dry her tears.

 _I wish I could take my children to the city,_ she found herself thinking. She wanted them to grow tall and beautiful and strong. She wanted them to mingle with the people they would lead one day. She wanted them to love and be loved in return _If only I could convince Victor..._

Sophia caught sight of Ernst as he waved her goodbye. She blew a kiss for him.

Soon, it became evident for her that it was a mistake to have brought Heinrich along. They first stopped at the shop of her favourite tailor, a man whose family had served the royals of Granorg for generations. When the man's wife went to Heinrich, the latter pressed himself against the wall, looking every bit like a small animal cornered by a beast of prey. Later on, as Sophia prepared an appointment at the palace for Victor, Heinrich came back from the fitting room in a rather fetching outfit (so fetching, in fact, that Myrte blushed and tittered on her spot, Sophia noted). He was redder than the fabric of his waistcoat. Sophia teased him mercilessly and tried to push him at Myrte. The latter giggled louder, but Sophia's cousin looked ready to crawl under the carpet.

Their afternoon was spent in a visit to an orphanage of which Sophia was the patron. A famous musician had thought of training some of the children in the choral arts, and they were now one of the city's most sought-after attraction. Their voices were as hauntingly beautiful as ever. As their representation went on, Sophia felt a chill all over her body. _Children outliving their parents_. She tried not to think of her son and daughter. _Parents outliving their children._ As one boy hit a high, crystal-clear note, she brought her gaze to her hands as she folded them over her lap. How horrifying that she dared compare their suffering to hers. _Mothers are such selfish creatures..._

They made their way back to the palace a little before dinnertime. Leah and Myrte chattered animatedly next to Sophia, but Heinrich was looking out of the open panel window of the palanquin with a wistful expression.

"I wish I could have let you be on your own for a bit, today," Sophia murmured to him.

Heinrich shrugged. "The guards would have never let me go out of their sight. I didn't mind following you."

The lie was so big that Sophia couldn't help but roll her eyes. She was about to retort when a wondrous idea passed through her head.

"Your Highness?" Heinrich asked her. "Is there something the matter?"

"Nothing, Harry," Sophia replied. "I was just thinking of what we could do tomorrow."

A crease began to form between Heinrich's eyebrows. "We are getting closer to—to _that day_." He inhaled sharply. "Victor won't let me go this time. He'll keep a close eye on me, I'm sure of it."

"Trust me on this." She smiled. "Trust me."

* * *

_\- 6 -_

This time, Heinrich was the one who was brought to her. As he edged closer to her, Sophia noticed how uncomfortable he seemed in the old rags Beth had slapped on him. Next to her, Leah and her husband Edmund exchanged a glance. They were not entirely convinced by the soundness of her plan either.

Heinrich immediately recognized the hallway in which they stood. "Wait... isn't this the entrance of one of the secret passages we used to take as children? You would have us get out of the castle without telling Victor?" His voice went up a notch. "Have you gone _mad?!_ "

Leah and Edmund's disapproving faces told her they felt the same, but Sophia ignored them. "We will be undercover. Look, even Ernst is in disguise!" She pulled her son forward. His giggles made her heart soar in happiness.

"You—" Heinrich choked on the word, looking at her with the most adorably horrified expression, " **—** you dressed him as a girl?!"

"Yes!" Sophia said. She held up Ernst's hand, and with a string of giggles the boy twirled on the spot to show his getup, a beautiful dress in tones of blue and soft creme. "Isn't he _beautiful?"_

Heinrich's dismay left him speechless for the rest of the trek through the secret passage, which was lucky for him. Sophia didn't think she would have tolerated another word from him; she would _not_ have anyone criticize the loveliness of her little boy, no, she would _not_. Only when they set foot inside the city proper did he come up to her, looking slightly worried.

"Even with these... _disguises_... it's dangerous for us to be out of the castle. What if someone finds out? What if someone attacks us?"

Sophia turned to gaze at Edmund as Ernst squirmed in her arms. He and his wife were walking a few paces behind them, looking like just any other couple browsing the shops of the busy street. Sophia knew that Edmund's eyes were always upon them, however.

" _One_ armed guard?" Heinrich said dryly. "Really?"

"He was the only one I trusted enough," Sophia replied in a mutter. "Beside, we won't be here for long, perhaps a few hours at most. Just stop worrying so much and enjoy your stay."

The city charmed Ernst, but Heinrich remained jumpy, looking at every new face with an amount of dread even his younger, more anxious self would have never shown. Sophia soon felt a twinge of shame. She noticed how clammy his palms were when she grasped one of his hands to lead him through the crowd. And his eyes were wide and alert, his breathing fast and hoarse. She had not brought Myrte with them today, thinking that giving him some space would be enough to make him calm down, but now she could see she should have done more. _I shouldn't have brought him here in the first place..._

"Harry," she called out gently. Her cousin turned desperate eyes to her. "Let's go sit down for a bit."

They found some stairs, and sat on the steps. Sophia warned Ernst to stay within sight of them, and then the boy shot off, picking a branch to poke at a nearby ant colony.

"Harry," Sophia said, "are you scared?"

Heinrich's response was a scowl, but on his face the expression was childish, unsurprisingly. Even though he had turned twenty a few months ago, his short stature and messy hair still made him look like a teenager.

"I'm sorry," Sophia said. "I shouldn't have forced you to come with me. I didn't realize just how frightened you were."

Heinrich's features softened. "It's alright. I know you were trying to help." He looked about to say more, but then Ernst suddenly skipped over to them, sitting down his uncle's lap. A monster would have materialized to do the same, and Heinrich would have looked as terrified.

"I told you he was fond of you," Sophia said as Ernst yawned. The boy muttered a _'good night_ ' before closing his eyes.

"Are all children so impossible to understand, or is it just yours?" Heinrich asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't say that," Sophia growled playfully. "You find this adorable too. You're just _pretending_."

Heinrich gave a haughty huff. Usually, Sophia would have laughed at his expression, but now only one thought kept coming back to her brain. _If only you had done your duty and married, then perhaps then my own children wouldn't be forced to—_

Sophia shook her head, disgusted with herself. Heinrich was watching her with heavy eyelids as well; he had now encircled the boy dozing off in his lap with his arms. _How could I? How could I ask him to force any children he might have into the same fate? The fate that will cost him his life?_ The sadness tightened her throat. Why would he even want to give his life for the world, then, when the same world would only destroy what was most precious to him a few years afterwards?

She enveloped Ernst and Heinrich in a hug. Her little boy mumbled, moving to rest his head on her belly, but Heinrich stiffened.

"Sophie—"

"I know, Harry, I know." _I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

He eased into the hug. Sophia tightened her hold on him. She couldn't remember a time where he had returned one of her hugs.

* * *

_\- 7 -_

On the morning of the last day, Sophia was escorted to her cousin's chambers with an army of servants carrying his favourite dishes and drinks. She herself had brought books to pass the time—encyclopedias of history and geography for Heinrich, and novels about dashing swashbucklers and daring warrior ladies for herself. Ernst followed after her; when she had told him his uncle _might_ read him a story if he was enough of a good boy, he had grabbed his favourite collection of fairytales. Eruca was chirping happily in Beth's arms.

Their procession however came to a grinding halt when they met Victor outside of Heinrich's bedchambers. He was accompanied by a few soldiers who were far too heavily armed for a simple matter of guarding someone's door.

"Victor!" Sophia cried out. "Did something happen? You seem unwell today."

"It's nothing that should worry you, my lady." Victor's gaze was cold. "I have heard disturbing rumours lately."

"Is that so?" Sophia said, anger rising within her as well. "Were they disturbing enough to warrant putting a group of soldiers armed to the teeth in front of your brother's chambers?"

"You've undermined my authority!" Victor replied. His voice hadn't exactly risen above a shout, but his tone still had been too violent for a simple reprimand. "You've manipulated my guards and encouraged servants to disobey my orders. All of this under the gullible eyes of my son!"

Ernst hid behind Sophia at the sound of his father's voice.

"You don't want me to raise our son to act like a decent human being, then?" Sophia said.

"You don't know Heinrich!" Victor shouted. "You don't know him the way I do! I did all of this for a reason! He's never raised a finger to do what he'd been told to do, never! He would have scampered the moment I would have left him unwatched!"

"So the answer to this is to treat him as some sort of criminal? For something he _might_ do?" She moved closer to her husband, jaw clenching. "Is that the kind of king you are? Is that the kind of king you want our son to be?"

They stood staring into each other's eyes for seconds that seemed an eternity to Sophia. The silence was only broken by a door creaking open.

"Harry!" Sophia exclaimed, turning to look at her cousin as he peered in the doorway. She heard Victor give an angry hiss at the sound of the nickname.

Heinrich's face was grey with worry, his eyes lined by deep, dark circles of fatigue. "Have you come to take me away, then, brother? Isn't it a little early?"

"The Ritual can be moved as I see fit," Victor replied. "It seems better to me to get it done as swiftly as possible."

Sophia couldn't believe her ears. Victor was glancing down at her. He was doing this to spite her as much as to hurt Heinrich.

Heinrich looked at his feet. "I should get changed," he mumbled.

"There is no time," Victor said. "Come, and let this be finally over."

Sophia glared at her husband as Heinrich attempted to protest. A guard swung the door open, and another seized Heinrich by the arm, throwing him into the corridor. Heinrich was still wearing his night clothes, and his feet were clad in unlaced boots. His glasses were askew on his long nose. Still, he managed to glare at the men who had acted so roughly with him. Even so, Sophia could only feel a sense of pity at the sight of him. She looked away, repulsed with herself.

"So be it, then," Heinrich said. He shot a joyless grin at his brother. "I'm ready for your worse."

Sophia found the strength to look Heinrich in the eye again. "Good luck, Harry." She then nodded coolly in her husband's direction. _"Victor."_

As she began to gather her skirts, Ernst tugged on her arm.

"What are they going to do to Uncle?" he whispered.

Sophia fought the impulse to draw her son in a hug. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I can't tell you."

Ernst clutched his book, his gaze going downward.

"Ernst!" someone suddenly called out. Mother and son turned to face the one who had spoken. "Did you bring that book for me?" Heinrich asked. He _had_ to be aware of the annoyance that rippled on Victor's features at his interruption. Sophia found herself smiling at this little bit of defiance.

"Uh-huh!" Ernst said. "It's my favourite."

"It used to be my favourite too, when I was your age." Heinrich's tired smile became warmer. "Do you want to read it with me when we'll see each other again?"

Ernst nodded enthusiastically.

"It's a promise, then," Heinrich said.

As the guards took him away, Heinrich dipped his head at Sophia, the gesture part salute, part thank you. She smiled at him through her tears, then grasped her son's hand tightly. When she was in the safety of her room, Sophia asked Beth to leave Eruca with her; afterwards, she brought her two children to her chest, letting the tears fall freely for the first time in several days.


	2. A Chip Off the Old Block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Radiant Historia belongs to Atlus, not to me~~

It was snowing lightly when Soren pushed opened the gate leading to his parents’ home. A cover of frost had accumulated on the ground, yet the chickens clucked without a care. They paid little to no attention to Soren, so caught up they were in their little chicken world. Soren smiled. He would have to ask Mom if he could feed them tomorrow morning before he would have to leave, just for old times’ sake.

Soren hesitated in front of the door, wondering whether to knock or not. He had his hand up in the air when the window to his left flapped open. His mother’s head sprung out from the opening.

“Hey, kiddo!” she said, a manic grin spreading on her face. “I didn’t think you’d arrive so soon!”

“Hi, Mom,” Soren answered. “How did you know I was here?”

“That damn gate creaks something fierce,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to repair it for a while, but I didn’t have the time. And you know how useless your dad is with that kind of work.”

Soren grinned. His dad was the smartest person he knew, but with a hammer or rake in hands the man had always looked so lost.

“Come in, come in!” his mother finally said. “Don’t just stand there in the cold! Sheesh, if I knew you’d be here so early, I would have started dinner sooner!”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Soren said as he went inside. He had barely put his luggage on the floor when Raynie crushed him in a bear hug. Soren patted her head with a soft smile, and she looked up at him with misty eyes.

The years had been good to the woman: the streaks of silver in her hair offered a striking contrast with the jet-black shade she’d passed down to her three children, while the lines creasing the corners of her eyes only highlighted the mischievousness still alight within their dark depths. Her soldier’s lean and muscled frame had given way to a mother’s soft plumpness, but it seemed to bother her very little. Soren remembered someone had once made a disparaging comment about it—it had been during the party celebrating her retirement from the city guard, he remembered —but she had only grinned, saying, “Nah, I’m good, now I’ve got the hips and the butt to go with my fabulous rack.” She had gone and sat in his father’s lap then, and the latter had only given a nod to show his silent approval. Soren had been rather young then, and so he could recall that his only response had been to want the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The twins, for their parts, had all but roared with disgust.

“You been taking good care of yourself?” Raynie said as she let him go. “I mean, you've got enough to eat and—?”

“Everything’s fine, Mom. I'm not starving or anything.”

Raynie gave a sheepish laugh. “I know, I know! I shouldn’t worry so much. After all, you’re the only one among my three kids who can cook something worth a damn.”

“Sia's in good health too, if you’re wondering. And Kale’s a bit touched in the head, yes, but I’m sure he’s alright too.”

“Kale!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Dammit, I forgot to tell him you were coming!” She rushed toward the door, grabbing her coat. “I gotta send him a message, so—”

“It won’t be necessary, Mom,” Soren said. “I’m just staying for the night. Tomorrow, I have to go to the capital. I’ll see him then.”

“Oh. You sure you’re not staying longer? I could use a hand around the house for a bit.”

“Sorry,” Soren said. “I have to meet someone at the university for an interview.”

“An interview?” Raynie joined her hands together. “Like a job interview?”

“Yeah. Professor Arden needs someone to help with her classes, and since she liked me well enough when I was having her course, well…”

“Soren, that’s wonderful! In a few years you could land up a gig as a teacher!” She seemed barely able to contain her glee. “My kids all ended up being such important people, I just can’t believe it!”

Soren hid a chuckle. _The father of your kids happens to be an honest-to-god prince. I can’t see how we compare._ “I don’t have the job yet,” he said. “But it would give me enough spare time to finish my book, so it’d be great if it did work.”

“How is your book going along, anyway?” She motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen. “D’you learn anything new from your aunt?”

“I did,” Soren said. There was a pot over the hearth. He could smell the lovely aroma of his mother’s chicken broth coming from within. “You want me to help with the cooking?” He noticed the pile of vegetables on the table and sat down, taking a knife in order to start peeling the potatoes. “By the way, where’s Dad?”

“Oh, you know, running errands for everybody and their grandmas.” Raynie rolled her eyes. “They sprung this up on him without any warning at all. It made him so mad too, since he knew you were coming home today. I wish they’d give him a break. I mean, the academy gave me the day off when I told them you’d come visit today.” She sighed. “And he’s not so young anymore.”

Soren replied with a shrug. His father appeared much older than he was, in truth. The terrible weight of his duties had probably aged him over the years, Soren realized with a dull pang.

“He’s got an important job, Mom,” Soren said. His father had never told his children just what his profession entailed, but Soren had figured it out by the time he’d hit the age of nine. Still, he had never breathed a word. Even as a child, Soren had understood the importance of secrecy in his father’s line of work.

“I know! But sometimes, I just want to smack his dumb face and make him think of himself for once.” Raynie stabbed at her piece of chicken meat. “Damn him and his dumb pretty face.”

“Whose pretty face?” said a tired voice some paces away.

“Stocke!” Raynie nearly dropped everything she was holding. Soren’s father was indeed standing in the doorway, one corner of his mouth curled into a little smile. “Dammit, I didn’t even hear you coming!”

Stocke shrugged. He was a middle-aged man who appeared about ten or fifteen years older than Soren’s mom. Time had only enhanced a naturally handsome and regal appearance. His silver hair was neatly combed back and his sideburns seemed to have been trimmed down this very morning. “That squeaky gate almost gave me away.”

Raynie walked up to him, poking his chest with a finger. “You have to stop doing this, you moron. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days!”

“Sorry. Force of habit.” Stocke accepted Raynie’s brief squeeze, then his eyes came to rest upon Soren. “It’s good to see you, son. How have you been?”

Soren stood up and shook his father’s extended hand. “Good. Sia, Auntie and Phe all send their love, by the way.”

“Is Sia settling down nicely?” Raynie asked Soren. “She was so anxious at the knighting ceremony...”

“She loves her new position,” Soren said with a grin. “I pity the idiot who ever entertains the idea to hurt Phe or Auntie Eruca.”

“Hmm,” Stocke said. “That’s good.”

Soren exchanged a smile with his mother. He was fluent in dad-speak, and in truth, those few words meant that Stocke was proud of his daughter.

Raynie’s gaze flicked from Stocke to her son. “You know what? You boys ought to go on upstairs for some catching up. I’ll take care of dinner.”

She laughed when they both looked at her. Soren realized he probably sported the same expression as his father right now. Everyone always told him he was just a chip off the old block, despite his darker colouring.

“Alright,” Stocke said. “But you call us downstairs the moment you need help.” He went over to Soren’s mom and gave her shoulder a light pat before leaving the kitchen. Soren followed after him.

The second floor hadn’t changed at all in the past year Soren was gone. He stole a glance to the room he and his siblings had shared growing up. His parents had left it looking the same—Soren’s corner was clean and spotless, while it seemed a tornado had gone over the twins’ things.

His father’s study seemed equally unchanged. The man spent more time here than he did anywhere else in the house. He did, however, devote some of his spare moments to the little garden he’d planted behind their home. Funnily enough, Soren was under the idea the man wasn’t very fond of gardening. When Soren had asked him, once, why he wasted so many hours on something he didn’t seem to enjoy much, Soren’s father hadn’t been able to provide a satisfying answer. _It’s just something I feel like I need to do_ , was all he could say.

His father lit up a fire in the hearth with his magic before sitting down at his desk. Soren looked upon the well-worn bookcases and desk with fond eyes. Growing up, he would often steal a book or two from his father’s collection, losing himself in some adventure or fanciful tale while the man did his paperwork.

And on many nights, whenever Soren would wake up to fetch something to drink (or because he’d been scared from a nightmare), he’d often spy a small light burning from his father’s desk. The man had trouble sleeping—as did Soren’s mom, in fact. Soren had often heard Raynie crying herself to sleep whenever he stalked past their bedroom. Thankfully, Dad had always been there to comfort her; Soren would then return to his bed on tiptoes before clutching his favourite blanket until he could no longer hear the soft sobs coming from beyond the door.

But whenever Stocke had been the one to be plagued by nightmares, he would steal away to his desk and his books rather than wake up Raynie. Soren could recall a number of moments where he had stumbled upon his father reading by the candlelight while the rest of the house slept. He would then always climb into Stocke’s lap, and the man would stroke his hair until Soren was lulled back to sleep.

“How did your visit go?” Stocke began, breaking the ice. “Did you find what you needed?”

“I did, but…” Soren sat down and produced a sheet of paper and a quill from his bag. “There’s a topic on which I’m not finding much info. I asked Aunt Eruca, but she said you’d be much more of a help than her.”

“I see. What did you ask her?”

Soren could feel his cheeks heating up. “I’m pretty sure it’s a sore subject for you and, well, I don’t want to dredge up bad memories, so…”

“Spill it, son. I’m sure I can take it.”

“Alright,” Soren said. “If I get too noisy for your taste, you can just throw me out of your office. I’ll understand.”

His father gave a little snort. “Your suggestion is duly noted.”

“It’s about something called… the Ritual of Flux.” Soren gulped down, closely gauging his father’s reaction. The man hadn’t budged an inch. “Um, reading the royal records, well, I’ve noticed that there are to be a lot of… early deaths in our family.” He winced as he said the next sentence. “Including your own.”

Now, Soren’s father almost seemed amused. His real identity as the supposedly deceased Prince Ernst of Granorg was something Soren and his siblings had figured out even earlier than his profession. Soren’s aunt—the reigning Queen of Granorg—had come up with the flimsiest of cover stories to keep the truth of her elder brother’s survival from ever leaking out. Many years before Soren's birth, Auntie Eruca had dragged Stocke in front of her court, claiming that he was her bastard half-brother, the old king’s unacknowledged son, born in the early years of his first marriage when his queen hadn’t been able to conceive. Still, a few nasty tongues had dreamed up other theories. The one that seemed to entertain Stocke the most suggested that he was the product of an affair between King Victor’s first wife and the man’s elusive and mysterious younger brother.

“I won’t give away your secret, don't you worry,” Soren said. “Obviously, you had a good reason for faking your death.” He thought back to the horrific circumstances surrounding his father’s supposed execution and shuddered. _Grandfather must have been a nasty piece of work…_

Soren’s dad looked through the window; his eyes were fixed on something only he seemed to see. “I haven’t faked my death.”

“Oh.” Soren didn’t know what to say to this. “Well, um, you—”

Stocke turned to his son, his piercing blue-green gaze pinning him into place. “My father executed me. The records have it right. I died that day.”

The paper crumbled in Soren’s hands. “What?”

“I died. Your grandfather killed me thirty years ago.”

“But, but…” Soren could only sputter.

Stocke groaned as he leaned back into his chair. “I should have told you kids much sooner. Eruca’s right to be mad at me. It's just.... well, I never thought it would be so _hard_.”

“What? What would be hard?”

“You figured half of the puzzle yourself,” Stocke said. “The Ritual of Flux.”

Soren remembered the records he’d found in the bowels of the royal archives. He recalled the shock and horror that had crept up on him as the names of the Granorgite princes and princesses who had died an early and unexplained death just kept piling up. “The Ritual? You participated in the Ritual? But the people who take part in the in the Ritual usually end up—”

“Dead, yes. But there’s a little more to that than what the books say.”

A chill went down Soren's spine. He wasn’t so sure he wanted the truth anymore.

“The people who participate in the Ritual are killed, yes,” his father said. “But first, they have to _live_.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Soren’s father steepled his hands together. “The Sacrifice is killed a first time by another member of their family—the Caster. The Caster then splits up their soul and give half of it to their now dead relative… so they might live again.”

Disgust made Soren’s head swim. “W-What…?”

“In my case, Eruca was the one who brought me back.” Stocke tapped at his chest, a soft, sad smile playing along the edges of his lips. “Your aunt and I share a soul, and that’s the only thing that keeps my body alive and functioning.”

“What? No, no, that’s just… that’s just so _wrong_ …” The horror seemed too great to be put into words.

“When the Sacrifice has come to an awakening,” Soren’s father’s continued, “they offer their soul to the world and finally pass on.” The sad acceptance in Stocke’s eyes was almost more horrible than anything he had said so far. “I haven’t reached that part yet, but it will come.”

Soren felt the blood drain from his face. “And then you’ll—”

“I’ll die,” Stocke said. “I’ll die, and there’ll be nothing wrong with that. I’ll leave knowing that everything is in your capable hands. Parents should not outlive their children. It’s the natural order of things.”

Soren struggled to find the words. “And afterwards, what will happen?”

“By then, I hope there will be no need to continue with that despicable practise.” Stocke’s eyes flashed with something—it seemed to be anger, Soren was surprised to find. “So that you kids won’t have to live through all of these horrors as well.”

The words seemed too hopeful, too _hollow_ , to Soren’s ears. His father was nothing but coldly pragmatic in everything else—this didn’t sound like him.

“But we might have to, won’t we?” Soren said. “I mean, I might have to die or it’ll be Artemisia or Kale or—”

“No!” Stocke said through grit teeth. “No, I won’t allow it!”

The violent hint in his father's tone sent Soren reeling back. Now, _that_ wasn’t like the man at all. “Dad…”

It took some time for Stocke to regain back his composure. “Was this how he—how _they_ felt?” he murmured. “I thought I understood back then, but now…”

“What? Who are you talking about?”

His father waved a dismissive hand. “No one. Listen, Soren… I’m…” Stocke sighed. “I’m only alive because hundreds of people died for my sake. I have no right to be so selfish. And yet…”

“You’re alive because hundreds of people died for you?” Soren repeated, staring at his father in mute shock. “You’re not making any sense. What do you mean?”

“I met only one other Sacrifice in my lifetime,” Stocke said. “He… he was…”

Soren wondered what had prompted the change of subject, but he tossed his interrogations aside and only waited for his father to continue. “What kind of person was he?”

Stocke rubbed his temples. “You can infer from my words. He was a mass murderer.”

“A _what?_ ” Soren nearly tumbled out of his chair. It wasn’t enough that they had two tyrants in the family; they needed a mass murderer as well? A shocking realization then began to creep up on him. _You can infer from my words_ , his father had said. “Did he… did he kill all of these people because of...?”

_…because of you?_

“You see now,” Stocke said in a weak voice—Soren noted he had not dignified his last question with a response. “I’m not in any position to ask more of the world. Yet, I’d give just about anything so you kids can never experience what my sister and I had to go through.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Dad,” Soren said.

“No, I don’t think you understand fully. If there was a choice between your life and the life of just about anyone else I care about…” An almost frightening intensity settled in his gaze. “I’d choose your life over theirs without even stopping to think about it.”

Soren held onto his father’s stare, feeling a lifetime’s worth of weariness through the contact. _And that terrifies me_ , was what Stocke was not able to say out loud. “I guess that’s normal. I’m your child.”

Stocke shook his head. “It’s not just because of some biological imperative. My own father _murdered_ me.” He suddenly seemed lost in some memory. “I recall the moment your cousin was born. Eruca had sworn on her life that she’d never put any children she might have before you or the twins if the Ritual needed to be done again. And yet, I remember the day she presented Ophelia to me, the way she looked at her and then looked at me…” He rested his chin on his joined fingers. “You see? It’s not so easy.”

“Dad,” Soren said. Stocke wasn’t looking at him. “ _Dad_ ,” Soren said a little more firmly, reaching to touch the man’s arm. Stocke’s face snapped toward Soren, and their eyes met again. “It’s okay. I understand. I’m sorry to have brought up so many bad memories. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” Stocke said, “you don’t need to apologize. I should never have kept this from you and the twins.”

“I understand why you did,” Soren said. “You didn’t want us to be hurt or afraid.”

“Hmm,” was all Stocke replied.

Soren rose from his chair. “Well, I should be going. I’ve done enough damage, anyway.”

“Wait,” his father said. “Didn’t you want me to tell you about the Sacrifices?”

Soren lingered on his spot. He’d learned so little about them from the history books in Granorg. There was something heartwrenching in the fact that the world they have saved knew so little of them. “I did, but I feel like I’ve already dug into so many upsetting things already, so…”

“I’m fine,” Stocke said. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Soren did as he was told, giving the man a weak smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

Stocke shrugged. “My knowledge isn’t much. I only met one of them, after all.”

“What was he like?”

“Hateful,” Stocke replied at once. Again, he seemed about to stagger under the tides of horrible memories that must have threatened to engulf him. Whoever that other Sacrifice had been, Soren’s father had felt very strongly about him. “And sad. He was sad. That’s what I remember the most.”

“Did you know him well?” _Did you care about him?_ “He was a member of our family, right?”

“I… don’t remember much about him.” Stocke closed his eyes. “You kids must have realized now that I have no memories of my childhood.”

Soren nodded. It was another badly kept secret. _And our family has still plenty lots to spare…_

“We were close when I was a child, apparently,” Stocke said. “He… he killed a lot of people for me. Because he was afraid.”

 _He was afraid to lose me_ , was what Soren understood. “That’s horrible.”

A bizarre expression settled on Stocke’s face. “Yes. I guess that’s how it looks in hindsight.”

Soren only stared at his father, his quill hovering in the air. _That’s... the understatement of the year._

“He stole me from my family. And he slaughtered hundreds and hundreds so I might live. Your mother would kill him on the spot if she were to see him again. And your aunt Eruca would do the same.”

 _And what would you do, Dad, if you were to meet him again?_ “I see.”

“He was a despicable and sad excuse for a human being. And yet, now that I have you and Sia and Kale…”

 _…it’s harder to hate him than it was all those years ago._ “I understand, Dad.”

“This isn’t the kind of things you can put into your book,” Stocke said. “I’m sorry. I’m not being very helpful.”

“No, actually, that’s perfect,” Soren said. “You gave me a good measure of the man. The monsters in our history books are never really monsters. They’re just humans.”

Soren’s father nodded gravely. “Yes. They’re just humans. That’s all they are.” He appeared oddly comforted by that thought.

“What was his name?”

There was some hesitation from Soren’s father. Then…

“Heinrich,” Stocke finally said. “He was called Heinrich. And he thought me so precious he named me after his favourite flower.”


	3. Someone to Watch Over Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes: This takes place right smack in the middle of Chapter 8 of Apocrypha (ie in that timeline where young-and-not-as-much-of-an-asshole!Heiss is hanging out at Skalla with teenage!Ernst and Eruca posing as his kids. It really won’t make any sense if you haven’t read up to that point of Apocrypha. Sorry…)
> 
> (also, Radiant Historia belongs to Atlus, not me, obviously.)

For a Satyros, Amir was a dreadful dancer.

In truth, all the other Satyros Heinrich had met before had been musicians or entertainers so perhaps he was measuring the boy on a somewhat biased scale. Still, he couldn't help but feel second-hand embarrassment wash over him as Amir waved stiff limbs in an attempt to follow the rhythm. No one else seemed to notice or care, however. The music whipped to a frenzy, and there were cries of joy and laughter as the dancers shuffled around trying to match the now maddened beat.

Ernst was watching Heinrich intently, the latter could see out the corner of his eye. The boy and his sister had not thought to join the throng of citizens dancing in the evening heat. The three of them had all stumbled upon the musicians with Isla and Amir after they had all left the clinic; Eruca had heard their first few notes while they had been but a few streets away and she had tugged on Heinrich's sleeve, begging him. "Please, can we go watch the show? Pretty please, Father?" Heinrich had been unable to refuse her; she had asked just so _adorably_.

Eruca was not one to dance, but she did clap her hands, delighted by the musicians' infectious cheer. Ernst, for his part, silently watched with his arms folded. Still, the boy threw occasional glances at his uncle. Heinrich couldn't begin to understand why.

After a while, it seemed Ernst could not contain whatever he wanted to say any longer. The boy sidled close to Heinrich, muttering, "Yeah, like you could do any better."

Heinrich looked at the dancers and then back at Ernst. "What?" he said, scowling despite himself.

Ernst rolled his eyes. "Forget I said anything."

" _What?_ If you have something to say, just say it."

Ernst peered down at his uncle and gave a shrug. Heinrich pinched his mouth as he realized the boy had grown another inch in the last few months. In a year or two, Ernst would probably tower over him.

The song came to an end, and the audience cheered and applauded. Amir seemed ready to tackle another piece, even though Isla was heading toward Heinrich and the two children. Her cheeks were flushed, but otherwise it seemed she had barely broken a sweat.

"You three are still standing there?" she said, taking place next to Ernst. "Why don't you come over and dance?"

Eruca shook her head, giving Isla a sheepish grin, but Ernst just shrugged again. "You don't wanna see me dance," he simply said.

"Oh? What about your father?"

It took Heinrich some time to remember that was him. "I'm too old for this kind of nonsense," was his reply.

Ernst snorted. Heinrich turned to him, eyes narrowing.

"What was that, boy?"

A smile played at the edges of Ernst's mouth. "Yeah, sure."

 _Oh, you smarmy little—_ "Is there something you would like to say, Stocke?"

"Yes, Stocke," Isla said. "Is there something you wanted to say?"

"Nothing," Ernst replied. "Father seems to think he'd do a better job than Amir, that's all."

 _I don't think I'd do a better job_ , Heinrich wanted to say, _I know I'd do a better job._ But he'd scream out loud his entire life story before he would admit to _that_.

If she was ticked off, Isla didn't show it. "Would you, Mr. Heiss? Would you like to give us a demonstration?"

Eruca brought her hands together to hide her smile. Heinrich didn't understand Isla's intent before it was too late.

"What," was the only thing he could say as she led him into the crowd of dancers. He stood in their midst, silent and still as a rock, for a few impossibly long seconds while she went to chat with the musicians. Soon, she was back, her eyes glittering with mischief.

"They agreed to play something Granorgite this time," she said, holding out her hand. Heinrich hesitated before his own hand went to hers; it hovered over her open palm. He could not bring himself to touch her. She didn't seem to mind, and for that, Heinrich was eternally grateful.

The strings and the flute took up the melody first, and Heinrich found himself following the slow tempo far better than he would have thought. Isla's eyebrows shot up under her fringe. She hadn't expected him to be so good either.

She gathered her skirts and hopped on her feet. Heinrich followed after her without missing a beat, one hand lightly touching her waist while the other went in the air, his fingers interlacing with hers. His uncomfortableness was slowing oozing away. Heinrich had danced like that, many times in his life, though he could not recall the circumstances for the most part. Still, his body remembered. Whenever one of her feet came down, stomping on the ground in an echo of the beat of the drum, his own was not far away, hitting the dirt and raising a little cloud of dust. Whenever her arm shot up, his hand would reach for hers in perfect synchronicity; he'd make her twirl and twirl, her skirts flaring around her.

Isla led him across the crowd, and for a brief second Heinrich tasted fright as she let go of his hand. Still, it seemed his legs were moving of their own accord, carrying him from partner to partner without even slowing down. Their touches sent goosebumps of disgust across Heinrich's skin, but his anxiety thankfully receded as pure, undiluted joy began to swoop over him. Sweat was pouring down Heinrich's brow, and yet every time he caught Isla's eyes across the crowd something lifted his heart, and he continued to leap and stomp and keep his head high.

The sight of bouncing brown curls told him Eruca had followed Amir into the gathering of dancers. Heinrich could hear her high-pitched giggles and cries of glee. She obviously had no idea what she was doing, but it didn't seem to matter to her one whit. As Heinrich grabbed a woman's hand, making her whirl and laugh, he could feel Ernst's eyes on him. This time, the boy's smile was genuine and warmer than any summer sun Heinrich had ever contemplated. Ernst's grin grew and grew; Heinrich realized with a little jolt that it was because he himself was grinning from ear to ear.

The melody quickened, and now it was truly hard to keep up with the rhythm. Heinrich evaded the other dancers' feet with renewed zeal. When Isla came bounding towards him, Heinrich moved to grab her hand, and she opened her mouth to laugh… and then a sudden pain struck through Heinrich's leg. The limb twisted under him, and he would have fallen headfirst into the dirt had Isla not been there to catch him.

The music went on as Isla carried Heinrich to the other side of the street, where Ernst was still standing, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. They made Heinrich lean against a wall so he would not fall. Eruca soon ran up to them, quickly followed by Amir.

"What happened?" asked Ernst. "Is it your bad leg?"

"You mean the leg he injured a couple of months ago?" said Eruca. "I thought it had healed."

"How is it?" Isla inquired. From her tone of voice, one couldn't have said she had spent the last ten minutes or so dancing and laughing. "How would you rate the pain?"

Heinrich wiggled his feet and winced. "It's… not bad. It's not the first time it happened. It's painful sometimes when I use it too much."

"Hmm," Isla said. "Stocke, Amir, help him up while I check."

She crouched, her hands running alongside Heinrich's leg. The latter could feel his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. The street was getting more and more crowded, and people were staring at them. Suddenly, Heinrich found his little stint very foolish. He could almost hear the scraping sound of the laugh Victor would have given at the sight of his younger brother dancing in the middle of some street, among the nameless and the lowest of the low. Heinrich's face grew even hotter. The _entire_ court would have laughed.

"That didn't seem like the kind of thing that would have played back home," Ernst's voice brought Heinrich out of his thoughts.

"No," said Heinrich. A green light poured out of Isla's hands, and the pain faded to almost nothingness. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth. "It's not even Granorgite. I believe the style predates the Empire. An ancient folk tune belonging to an unknown and forgotten people."

"Really?" said Ernst. "Would it have been popular at court, then?"

"I can't see the current king liking that sort of music much. But I think the queen might have allowed it to play." Heinrich gave the boy a knowing smile, silently telling him that she _had_ allowed that kind of music to play while she lived. "She was a patron of the arts, you see." _And she loved to have a laugh at your father's expense_ , that much he remembered.

Isla got up. "I don't see anything wrong. Still, to be sure, maybe you should come see me a couple of times this week so I can check your recovery. In the meantime, there's a few exercises you can do to help."

Heinrich was barely listening to her. The feeling of the growing crowd was pressing onto him, and it was becoming harder and harder to breath.

"Good," he said, a little more curtly than he intended. "Let's get back, then."

* * *

Thankfully, Heinrich's leg did not trouble him the days afterwards. Still, he and the children found themselves spending most of their evenings at Isla's place. Heinrich was embarrassed to admit that his attempts to learn from her how to see the threads of Mana with the naked eye were fruitless so far. The children, especially Eruca, soon begged her for lessons as well, and they were happy to be taught alongside him. Heinrich's annoyance only grew as he realized that they grasped her nebulous explanations far quicker than he did.

"Your boys have your smarts," Roslin, Isla's aide, told Heinrich one evening as he came to fetch the children from their work. "Although, they must take after their mother for their looks. She must have been a lovely woman, your wife."

Heinrich looked at her with a blank expression. "My wife?"

Roslin chuckled. "Yes, the mother of Stocke and Mattie. She must have been quite the beauty."

"Um, yes, she must have been," Heinrich said. To tell the truth, he could not even remember her face or her voice.

Roslin's smile froze. Not far away, Ernst and Eruca shot their uncle a strange look.

Later on, after Roslin had left, Ernst came up to Heinrich, arms crossed against his chest. "You really need to work on your cover story, you know."

"She took me by surprise," Heinrich admitted. "But, yes, you are right." He could not afford to be so careless in the future. He tucked Ernst's suggestion safely away for future uses.

The final day of the week arrived without any other incident happening. Heinrich's daily lesson with Isla was similarly uneventful. When the sun started to dip over the horizon, he all but pleaded for a moment of rest. It was starting to feel to him as if his eyeballs would burst into flames from sheer effort. Isla and Amir offered to walk Heinrich and the children to their home, and so the five of them set out, as they had did dozens, perhaps hundreds of times before. To Heinrich's great discomfort, the moment they arrived at their destination, they were swarmed by the children's street rat friends. Heinrich immediately went for the door, giving the crowd of kids the stink eye.

"Hey, it's Amir and Isla!" a black-haired girl exclaimed. She had barely finished her sentence when the rest of her cohorts flocked to the two Satyros. "Teach us some magic, Amir!" she managed to say above the excited chatter that had broken out. "I've been practising lots!"

"Mattie's still better," another kid said. Eruca let out a nervous cough in response.

The black-haired girl let out a bark of laughter. "Maybe, but I've got more magical affinities that he does. You can only cast ice spells, right?" She looked at Eruca, who nodded. "Well, you haven't got any affinity for fire or lightning magic, but I do!"

"Jack of all trades, but master of none!" the other kid retorted. The girl answered with a scowl.

"Guys!" said Amir, "let's not fight! The number of magical affinities you have isn't important, only the effort you're willing to put in your training."

This prompted the children to argue among themselves some more. With a roll of the eyes, Heinrich let them to their squabble and climbed the creaky stairs that led to his apartment. He was soon surprised to find he was being followed.

"We need to prepare some dinner for these poor famished children of yours," Isla told him. "I'll let you handle the vegetables." She thrust into Heinrich's arms the bunch of carrots, onions and turnips she had brought from her home. He gave her a wide-eyed stare, and a silent argument ensued. It ended with a shameful Heinrich slinking back to the table with his tail between his legs, and Isla strolling away with a satisfied smirk.

"Well, now…" Heinrich's face shot up at the sound of Isla's voice. She was biting down her lower lip as she appraised the hearth. "I need a fire. Care to help me?"

Heinrich sent a flicker into the pile of wood. Not a minute later, the fire was roaring. "Strange. I'd have thought you would be able to use every element, considering just how magically powerful you must be."

Isla put a pot filled with water over the growing fire. "It's as Amir said. Magical affinities are not a measure of one's abilities." She gave him an odd look. "Especially when it comes to rare abilities such as ours."

Heinrich shuddered despite himself. "Sometimes I wish you hadn't realized just who," _or what_ , he added inwardly, "I am."

"Even without these powers of mine, I'd still know who you are," Isla said. Heinrich raised his brows, prompting her to elaborate. "Anyone who knows a bit about your family could do the same."

"Oh? Is that so?"

"Your ears, for one. They're slightly pointed."

Heinrich absentmindedly touched the tips of his ears, his cheeks warming up. "It was more evident on my father and grandfather," he mumbled. He could not recall anything else of their features, he was embarrassed to admit.

"And your eyes..." Isla directed her own gaze towards him, but Heinrich looked away, distressed.

"No one has ever realized," he said. "I thought _—_ I was afraid someone would notice one day." People rarely commented on his appearance. Of all his features, only his nose seemed to draw attention. _And it usually isn't the good kind of attention,_ Heinrich thought not without some embarrassment.

"I'm not about to turn you in, if that's what you're afraid of," said Isla. "I don't think most people are aware of the significance of your eye colour."

Heinrich swallowed nervously. He'd seen eyes that shone like gold, eyes as green as moss and even eyes the brilliant shade of amethysts staring back at him from among the crowds of Granorg's capital city. As a boy, this had left him uneasy. _Descendants of the bastard children of the Imperial Priests_ , his father the old king had explained to him. But red eyes _—_ eyes the colour of fresh blood... those eyes were found in one lineage only.

A peal of laughter rung out from the open window. With a sigh, Heinrich put aside the pile of now peeled vegetables that had been stacking up in his lap. He stood up to look outside. The black-haired girl had attempted to make an ice sculpture, but the result was nowhere was pretty as Amir and Eruca's creations. The vaguely humanoid lump became a puddle by their feet in a matter of seconds. Ernst and Eruca's friend grinned from ear to ear, taking her failure with good humour, it seemed.

"It was lucky that neither of those two inherited this particular shade," Heinrich said after a while, before growing silent and somber. The current reigning line had been born with his mother's lightly coloured eyes. Some of his distant cousins _—_ Count Gamlen and his brood came to mind _—_ were blessed with dark russet eyes, but the colour was nowhere as striking as the red of Heinrich's own irises. In all possibilities, the accursed shade would probably die with him. Heinrich grit his teeth together. _And just whose fault is that…?_

"It's funny," Isla said. "I knew the instant I met you who you happened to be, yet I have no idea what your real name is." Her mouth quirked into a smile. "I know the children's names, however."

Heinrich goggled at her. "What? How could you know their names but not mine?"

Isla shrugged. "You aren't much of a public figure, while the children are, well, you know…"

 _The king of Granorg's two missing heirs_ , Heinrich completed in silence. Still, childish disappointment bubbled in his guts. He went to fetch a knife to cut up the meat rather than dignify her words with a response.

"You'll have to tell me, one of these days," Isla finally said.

Soon, a delicious aroma was floating from the hearth and to Heinrich's nostrils. As the vegetables cooked in the boiling water, Isla continued to chat about inconsequential things. Heinrich only answered with grunts as he prepared the meat.

"How about work?" she asked Heinrich as he stabbed at a particularly stubborn piece of pork. "Everything's all right?"

Heinrich answered with a snort. "We've been after this one band of smugglers for weeks. It's dreadfully boring work." With the war still going up north, average goods from Granorg and Alistel fetched an insultingly high price on the black market, making the Cygnan cities a paradise for criminals of all sort.

"Is that so? Have you made any progress?"

"We did," said Heinrich. "We've raided one of their storehouses and made some arrests, but the leader slipped through our fingers." He plunged the knife into the meat, chopping it into small pieces. The gesture was strangely satisfying, he was surprised to find. Heinrich was even more startled to realize what he had just said _—_ and just how easily he had said it. He had been taught as a child to be as tight-lipped as possible; in his brother's court, every word was a weapon that could be used against him. It was disconcerting just how effortless conversing with Isla could be.

"You'll catch them soon enough," said Isla. "I don't doubt your tenacity for a second."

Heinrich listened to the laughter and delighted cries coming from the open window before he answered. "I guess tenacity comes with the job description." He wondered if Isla understood he had not meant his work in the city guard.

Isla bit down her lip. "Indeed," she said. "What a terrible burden it must be."

Heinrich froze, and his heart gave a little jump. _She understood._ A sudden and nameless emotion threatened to wash over him. He truly hadn't expected her to understand.

"I keep having to start over and over," Heinrich found himself saying. Isla's jewelry gave a chime as she whipped her head to look at him. "To prevent them from dying. The children, I mean. I saw them die, and I had to go back. I had to go back to change it."

Isla's gold-green eyes had grown enormous. She seemed unable to form a word.

"Ern _—_ Stocke bled to death in front of my eyes. And Mattie died in my arms the first time we tried to cross the desert between Granorg and Skalla." Heinrich squeezed his eyes shut, and the images danced against the back of his eyelids. Eruca's skeletal form lying in his lap, her last breath escaping cracked and bloody lips. And of course, Ernst's tiny lifeless body curled on the floor of the throne room in Castle Granorg. Heinrich's hands began to shake. Soon, tremors rippled through his entire body.

There was the sound of someone abruptly moving, and Heinrich was startled out of his nightmares. Heart pounding in his ribcage, he opened his eyes. Isla's hand was resting on his shoulder. The chair gave a screech as Heinrich backed away, wrestling himself out of her grasp. He instinctively grabbed his shoulder, looking at her with mounting revulsion.

"Heiss, if you ever need to talk—"

 _"Talk?"_ Heinrich's voice had gone up a pitch despite his best efforts. "About what?"

"You should not have to carry all of this by yourself."

Heinrich felt bile rise up in his throat. "What would you know? _How_ could you know?"

A muscle twitched above Isla's brow, and she drew her mouth into a line. "Just remember that I'm always here if you need me," she said evenly.

"I don't need your pity," was all Heinrich replied. He took a step backward. He needed fresh air or else he knew he'd expel the meagre content of his stomach all over the floor. He stormed out of the apartment without another word.

The children called after him when they saw him come out of the door, but Heinrich did not reply. Looking at Ernst or Eruca would only have made everything worse. How could he have stood seeing their beaming faces while the only thing he could see in his mind's eye was their lifeless gazes staring back at him?

Night soon fell over the city. The air was cool and damp, and so Heinrich shivered, hugging his slight frame for warmth as he wandered through the meandering streets of Skalla. Another sort of city came alive during the dark hours. The streets were sparsely filled, in contrast to the bustling crowds of the day. When it was draped under the cold starry sky of the Cygnan desert, Skalla belonged to drunks, beggars and thieves. _And worse still._

Heinrich ignored the acute pangs of hunger as his feet dragged him around the city. He could only think of how foolish he must have looked in Isla's eyes. She must have thought him a sorry excuse for a prince _—_ weak and overemotional and undeserving of the duties that had been heaped on his shoulders. And, _oh_ , how he wished he could just purge out of existence the occasional and horrific glimpses into past timelines that kept flashing in front of his eyes every minute or so! Maybe then his hands would stop shaking. Maybe then he could just go home without feeling like a stain on his family history.

Heinrich stopped in his tracks as a familiar building came into view. It was a small rug shop located only a street corner away from his lodgings. His feet must have carried him back home despite his wishes to the contrary. Heinrich sighed, clutching a trembling hand to his chest. Despite his current misgivings, he could not deny the allure of a nice plush bed and a few good hours of sleep.

There was the sound of crunching gravel behind him. Instinct kicked in, and Heinrich leaped forward, spinning on his heel to face the one who had crept up to him. The lower part of their face was covered by a mask. Heinrich cursed under his breath. Of course this had to happen the one moment he had rushed out of his home without a weapon!

The gleam of a blade told Heinrich his assailant was not as forgetful. The dagger swiped at him, and Heinrich deflected its trajectory with one arm, conjuring a ball of fire within his other palm. Heinrich flung the flame into his opponent's face, and the man backed away with a scream.

Heinrich took to his feet, not sparing a glance to the man doubling over in pain behind him. He'd run barely a pace away when his leg stiffened under him. _Dammit! Not now!_ Heinrich staggered forward, his limb growing limp and useless beneath his weight. The pain was electrifying as it was sudden.

Fear shot through him as Heinrich felt something swooping behind him; the mystery person grabbed both of his arms, lifting him from the ground. The shadow of a third opponent lunged at Heinrich, and he kicked at them with all of his dwindling strength. His assailant retaliated with a punch in the guts, knocking the air out of Heinrich's lungs. He still had stars in his eyes when a long and large blunt object swung into view _—_ and then Heinrich could see no more.

* * *

"—why is it such a good idea, again? This is just trouble waiting to happen!"

"Shut up! You sure you tied him right? He can do magic, y'know? I'm not letting anywhere near me!"

"You think I don't know that?!" Someone spat on the floor. "He nearly burned my face off!"

The voices then dwindled down to murmurs, thankfully. Heinrich was not aware of much else except for a head-splitting migraine. _Where am I? What happened?_

As awareness began to ebb in, so did a new level of pain. His stomach hurt, his leg hurt even more, and his head seemed ready to burst open. Heinrich twisted on his spot, wincing. The rope dug into his skin with every movement he made. There was a warm puddle under his head; as he moved, the blood smeared his cheek, and he had to fight not to retch at the smell. _They hit me, and I passed out_ , he managed to understand. _How much blood have I lost…?_

It was near impossible to hold a coherent thought. The room they had put him in had no source of light. Still, sometimes he could see darker shapes moving about. Human voices came together in an incomprehensible string of sounds. The only constant was the pain; it kept him from going in and out of consciousness.

A human shape approached him. "—think he moved! Damn! He's woken up! What do we—"

Another of the brigands glided over to Heinrich. The latter craned his neck to get a better look and only got a kick in the ribs for his troubles.

"Kept him down!" The man kicked Heinrich again and again, once in the stomach and another time in the face. Heinrich coughed up blood. "For ransom, we need him alive, not necessarily conscious!"

 _Ransom…?_ "What," Heinrich uttered. Who would be idiotic enough to think anybody would pay ransom to get him back?

As if he could hear Heinrich's thoughts, the man rammed his foot into Heinrich's stomach again. He kicked and kicked, until Heinrich was numb with the pain, stopping only when another of the brigands started to berate him. Blackness engulfed Heinrich once more.

When Heinrich opened his eyes, a bit of sunlight was filtering through an opening over his head. The outline of the room was coming into focus: it was small and furnished with only a desk and a chair. Someone was sitting down in it, keeping guard, but Heinrich could not make out their features. The door was slightly ajar, and the voices of a few other men came through it in indistinctive bursts.

Heinrich tested his bonds and found them so tight he could barely wriggle his hands. The rope burned against his wrists and ankles, adding to the pain. It was hard to think straight, but he _had_ to. No one would be foolish enough to come save him. Heinrich was truly on his own. _As I have always been…_

Heinrich gathered his thoughts, concentrating all of his attentions on the flux of Mana coursing within him. His efforts were only met by a gripping sense of nausea; his head swam as the ever-growing pull of unconsciousness reared its ugly mug once more. When he awoke again, Heinrich was even more disoriented than before. _I have to keep my strength_ , he managed to think through the fog. _Perhaps if I managed to get some rest, then—_

There was a loud crash, and a slew of curses from the other room. The man who had been sitting next to Heinrich sprung out from his chair, shouting. The sounds of bodies shuffling and _—_ yes, there was no mistaking it _—_ blades clashing against blades rung out from beyond the door.

The man who stood watch over Heinrich drew his own weapon. The blade hovered inches away from Heinrich's face. "You don't move a muscle," he said, the tip of his sword drawing blood from Heinrich's cheek. "You stay there, and wait 'til we sort it out, understand?"

Heinrich was in no position to reply. His tongue was so thick in his mouth he could not even make a sound.

"There he is!" someone called out. The voice was familiar to Heinrich's ears. Heavy footsteps hammered on the ground _—_ not the dull stomp of boots against the floor, but more like—

… _hooves?_ It could not be, thought Heinrich's exhausted and bewildered mind. No one would be mad enough to barge in with a horse. Yet the _clip-clop_ of hooves grew closer and louder, adding to Heinrich's confusion

"Please stop this nonsense," the same voice said. It came from the door, and Heinrich could now tell it belonged to… a _woman?_ "Let him go. You don't need to get hurt. You're outnumbered."

"Shut up! I'll kill him if you budge an inch!"

There was no other movement coming from the door. "Fine. Tell me what you want, then, and I'll do as you ask. No one needs to get hurt."

"Put that stick of yours on the ground! And tell the ones who came with you to do the same with their weapons."

There was silence from the woman, then, "You… you want me to put my staff on the ground?"

"Yes! Dammit, woman, don't make me repeat myself!"

"Oh. Well, since you asked so kindly…"

There was the clatter of something metallic hitting the floor. The woman crouched, her hand still hovering over her discarded weapon. It took all of Heinrich's energy to meet her eyes. Isla's hair was coming out of her bun in frizzy tangles, and blood poured out of a gash on her cheek.

"Get up, goat girl!" the brigand shouted. "Show me your hands!"

Isla did not move. The tip of her metallic staff was directed at the feet of Heinrich's captor. The air crackled with invisible energy, and Heinrich could feel the hair on his arms standing. He knew what was going to happen before his kidnapper could even realize, it seemed.

"What—" the man blurted out, backing away from Isla. There was a loud snap, like the sound of a whip cracking through the air, and a circle of blue lightning crepitated to life underneath the brigand's feet. The man cried out a curse as the light of Isla's trap spell flared from under him. Bolts jumped in arcs across the man's form, and he writhed under the sudden assault, his mouth open in a silent scream. A second later, he had slumped to the ground, limbs still twitching.

Isla rushed to Heinrich's side. He could see a blade in her hands. She cut off his bonds and Heinrich attempted to wriggle out of his uncomfortable position, only to cry out in pain and curl on the floor, shuddering.

"No!" she said. "Don't move! We need to make sure it's safe—"

She had barely finished her sentence when a human shaped shadow darkened the doorway, a long and thin object raised above their head. Isla brought her staff to meet her attacker's weapon _—_ half a second later, and the brigand's blade would have hacked its way through her shoulder.

Isla leaped to her feet, twirling her staff into her hands and thrusting it forward. Her opponent swatted it aside, and metal ran against metal in a hair-raising screech. Blue lightning danced along the length of Isla's staff. The spell shot through the man's sword and arm, and he tumbled to the floor in a convulsing heap. Isla strode over his wheezing form, her staff poised for another attack.

Heinrich crawled after her, struggling to get a better look at the battle raging in the other room. Half of the combatants were dressed in mismatched pieces of leather armour. The other half wore dull yellow-brown tabard emblazoned with a familiar insignia. Heinrich could almost not believe his eyes. _Isla and some people of the city guard?_ What could have prompted such a bizarre team-up?

Still, Heinrich had eyes only for one fighter. Isla's red hair now fell to her shoulders in messy curls, and sweat and blood glistened on her face. Her features betrayed little hint of emotion. She might have just been at home preparing dinner with Heinrich or listening to the children's absurd tales.

Isla was so busy fighting with a particularly tenacious opponent she had not noticed that one of the bandits was sneaking up behind her, bloodied dagger in hand. Heinrich shouted her name, but the word caught into his throat, and only a feeble rasp left his mouth.

Fear and anger iced his veins, and with a strength he didn't know he still possessed, Heinrich pushed himself off the floor, launching himself at Isla's attacker. He grabbed the man's feet, and the brigand yelped and staggered. Heinrich dug his fingers into the fabric of the man's pants, heating up his palms with all the Mana he could muster. The man screamed and tried to kick Heinrich away. A great swing from Isla's staff put an end to all of his efforts, thankfully for Heinrich, and the man fell like a stone.

"Thank you!" Isla cried out to Heinrich. The latter mumbled a reply before slumping to the ground, winded out.

The battle ended not long after. Isla kneeled to Heinrich's side as her unlikely comrades rounded up the surviving outlaws, laughing and japing all the while. The green light of her spell enclosed Heinrich's form like a warm embrace. He relished in its glow as the pain receded bit by bit.

"Th–Thank y-y—"

Isla gave his arm a little pat. "Save your strength, Mr. Heiss. Don't worry, we'll get you home in one piece. Just relax for now."

"G-good…"

Heinrich remembered very little of the trip back home. He became vaguely aware at some point that Ernst was hoisting him up a familiar flight of stairs. The boy helped lay his uncle in bed and went out not long after, although not before giving Heinrich's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Isla stayed behind to check on his wounds. By now, Heinrich had regained some of his spirits.

"Who were these people anyway?" he asked Isla. "What did they want with me?"

Isla sipped some of the tea Eruca had prepared for her before she answered Heinrich. "They belonged to the smugglers' band you talked to me about. Apparently, they wanted to trade you for a few of their imprisoned comrades."

Heinrich snorted. "As if the Captain would have been idiotic enough to allow such a thing." He shook his head. "How did you find me?"

"Your landlady was coming home around the same time you were attacked. She saw them drag you off, and so she went to get us."

"But how did you know where to find me?"

Isla raised a brow. "I was getting there. After your landlady told us what happened, we hurried to the garrison. They agreed to try and find you." She rolled her eyes. "You had no idea how hard it was to get Stocke off our trail. He wanted so much to go with us."

"Why?" The boy had never struck Heinrich as someone eager for a fight.

She offered him a strange little smile. "Why wouldn't he?" Isla said. As Heinrich continued to stare, her smile gave way to a frown. "Oh. You're serious." She sighed and murmured, "What are we going to do with you, Mr. Heiss?"

Heinrich swallowed back a harsh retort. "It's not important. Please continue."

"We had no lead to follow," said Isla. "But there was something your kidnappers overlooked." She paused and shot Heinrich a significant look before continuing. "They had no way of knowing who they happened to snatch up."

Heinrich's eyes widened as the realization settled in. "You mean…"

"Your Mana signature looks like a signal flare to me," said Isla. "They could have hidden you anywhere in town, and I would have found you."

Heinrich felt a sudden, inexplicable chill. She must have noticed it since she peered down at her feet, smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry. That came out wrong."

"There's no trouble," Heinrich muttered. "I believe I owe you my thanks, then."

She took another sip of her drink. "You're welcome."

Heinrich could feel his cheeks heating up, but strangely enough, it was not from embarrassment. "Heinrich," he suddenly said.

Isla held her mug, staring at him with furrowed brows. "What?"

"My name. It's Heinrich."

"Oh." Isla put down her mug and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Heinrich."

Heinrich gingerly took it. Her hand was warm against his clammy fingers. "Likewise." It was a slow process, but he finally came to mirror her smile. It was a strange feeling, to realize that someone wanted to know his name _—_ to realize that someone _cared_ enough to want to know his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes: Wow--! Friendship truly is magic!!11! Who could have thought?!1!


End file.
